Haunted in Dreams
by Keysuna
Summary: Dreams are a gateway to the heart, nightmares however, are pictures of the minds hidden depths. Lost souls only add confusion.


Haunted in Dreams.  
  
~Keysuna  
  
A/N: I needed more closure then 'Chosen' could offer. So this is what I came up with. Not entirely happy with it, but I like the dreams.  
  
Disclaimer: Characters are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I don't own anything.  
  
Summary: Dreams are a gateway to the heart, nightmares however, are pictures of the minds hidden depths. Lost souls only add confusion.  
  
Timeline: Post 'Chosen'.  
  
Pairings: B/S  
  
***  
  
It might be because all I've ever done is kill.  
  
I remember the first time. The first time I killed. LA sprawled out in front of me, a dark playground painted with fear and loss. Screams rang through the rustling silence, and I ran toward it. It's my calling, not the prophecy writings or the mystical energy, it's the sound of pain that makes my blood rush. And I relish in it. It's the taste and the passion, every punch and every throw. It's life teetering on the last edges of defeat that lets the power reign over the human.  
  
Because my gift is death.  
  
I get off on it. I find myself walking through the dark, not for the need to rid this world of the demonic plague, but to dance. The war has become twisted, and the balance weighed in my favor, but I'm still unsure as to which face of the day I belong to. Sometimes, when the moon is clouded and grass damp with blood, I'll drop the stake. I'll drop the fight. I'll wait for something to take me.  
  
Because my lust is to die.  
  
It's the solitude. My path is shadowed by the mixed properties of dark and light. The road is only wide enough for one, and yet I've long since past it, dropping the hearts of those I tried to bring along. The hurt is eased when another revelation comes from another writing, prophesying my end, sometimes theirs. It's always my fault, and I forget to thank them for teaching me to feel. I wish I had remembered once, but the dark has claimed them, and I brought them there.  
  
My art is death  
  
Every moment of the fight is a craft, a skillfully mastered dance that only a Slayer can weave. With one step, with one parry, I can turn the tide of the war, and bend it to my own will. With one thought I can shift the fight and kill it all off.  
  
It's power,  
  
Between the balance, it's the gray and blurred lines. The ones I've crossed, the ones I've pushed others over. Before there's light enough to see, your already buried beneath the dark, to blind to find your way out. We are all looking for our ultimate potential, but that was handed to me long ago, and I never asked for it. Still haven't accepted it.  
  
Pain,  
  
The hurt was never inflicted, but self brought. Every moment of breathing is suffering, and I sometimes wonder if maybe that's why I still loved him after I brought out the demon. Killing him hurt more then the others leaving, but he never really died, was only born again.  
  
and passion.  
  
Between the will to live, and the desire to die. But I have never had the longing to set my foot on the sun drenched world. I feel much more at home in the dark. He knows that. He accepts that, for so long I refused to acknowledge what he was, when all along I was just his other half.  
  
I fight,  
  
For them, I keep the battle. I keep moving, keep killing.  
  
I feel  
  
They keep tugging me back, and his fingertips are always out of reach.  
  
and I fall.  
  
I haven't yet, too afraid to meet their eyes when they see me on the ground, a bloody mess that can no longer save them. Maybe someday I'll have the courage to let the darkness seep through my skin and become apart of the night, but for now, all I can do is live. And that's the hardest thing.  
  
*  
  
The song is one I've heard before, but I can't place it. There are nameless faces around me, to dark to see, but I'm not dancing to them. I'm engaged to the music. Seductively moving. My arms are raised above my head as my body dances to the sound.  
  
He's watching me, the only face I can make out. But his features are shadowed, only his eyes are bright against the dark. Slowly, he raises a glass to his lips and takes a long sip. Gaze on me, always on me. The liquid is thick and damp, staining his mouth with the blood as he sets it back down.  
  
We're at the Bronze  
  
His body moves, and the crowed seems to disappear so he has a straight path toward his destination; toward me. I don't need to see as he walks behind me, I can feel him. Both hands rest on my hips as he spoons himself against my body. We're moving together, his coldness intertwined with my heat.  
  
"You won pet." His voice is husky, a breath against my ear. The song stops and there is a haunting silence. I don't answer.  
  
"Our song is over." He continues, moving closer as another beat pulses through the air. "But the dance hasn't ended."  
  
I feel the soft lips hovering over my ear, and I still as a sharp pang pricks the skin. I don't need to turn around to see he has changed into game face.  
  
"I still haven't had my day yet." With one hand, he bends my neck to the side and spends a moment eyeing the pale skin. He lowers his fangs, and before I can tense, he bites and drinks my life away.  
  
Yet, I can't seem to feel anything but relief.  
  
***  
  
Buffy opened her eyes to the harsh light. Slowly, she pulled herself out of sleep and blinked herself awake He was here, she could feel it, standing in the door frame. Had had watched her sleep.  
  
"Hey." She whispered looking to the ground, she didn't know if she could look at him.  
  
"Hey." He said back.  
  
The Slayer struggled in a breath. "When did you get here?" She risked a glance, and his dark eyes held hers.  
  
"A few hours ago."  
  
"How long have you been in my room?" She tried to make it into a joke, to drive her voice into a higher tone, but she wasn't sure if she had succeeded.  
  
There was silence. "A few hours maybe." They shared a smile.  
  
She pulled the covers down toward her ankles and slowly pulled out of them. He watched as her small feet hit the hard, cold floor. Buffy drew herself up to her full height, tugging down on the white tank top so that it no longer bared her midriff. The bed divided them, and neither was willing to make a first move.  
  
"I take it we won." Angel said finally, hands going toward his pockets.  
  
The Slayer solemnly nodded. "You could say that." She paused. "You knew what the amulet did, would do the holder." It wasn't a question.  
  
The vampire met her eyes and held them there. "I was willing to make that sacrifice."  
  
"So was he." She whispered back.  
  
"Really?"  
  
Buffy was the first to let her gaze falter. "For me he was."  
  
"It's not like I haven't died for you before." Angel pointed out.  
  
"I killed him like I did you." She said as if not hearing him.  
  
Angel caught a glimpse of her emotionless gaze. "You drove a sword through him?"  
  
"I told him I loved him."  
  
The vampire took a moment to process the information. "Do you?"  
  
"Why do you care?" She shot back and felt guilty at the fury that building up within her. She had always lulled herself into believing that Angel would always be her love, nothing, no one would ever change that. Even with Riley, or Spike for that matter, it was Angel who she had always longed for. And here she stood defending a past lover to him. "I. . . I've been having dreams." She sighed as he watched her with unreadable eyes.  
  
He took the change of subject with interest. "About what?"  
  
"Spike." The word was pained.  
  
Angel didn't say anything.  
  
"I had dreams after I killed you." Buffy took a shaky breath. "It's the same thing."  
  
The vampire kept his gaze steady on her. "How so?"  
  
Buffy let her eyes fall to the ground. "It's. . . hard to explain."  
  
"Try me." He walked over to her, long strides that seemed to shorten the distance rather then cross it. Angel brought a hand up to her cheek, but she flinched away.  
  
Her eyes met his, and he accepted the unspoken apology with a nod.  
  
"He's going to come back." The Slayer sighed and turned away from the watching eyes.  
  
"When." There was no feeling in his voice, and Buffy suspected his face was an emotionless facade as well.  
  
She shifted her feet. "When I'm ready."  
  
He nodded, a gesture to himself rather then to the blonde and started out of the room, stopping at the doorway. "I'll keep in touch."  
  
Buffy looked up and met his gaze. "I'd like that."  
  
Angel nodded and gave a slow smile that the Slayer mirrored.  
  
He left the motel in a waiting limo, and Buffy watched him drive away from behind the shades of her stained window.  
  
***  
  
I sunk my head deeper into his chest and waited for the screaming to stop. His large hand caressed my back and I relaxed against him as our feet shuffled to the chorus of vocalized pain. If I peek my eyes open, I can see the peroxide stained head turned away from me, draining the life from a brunette. It's easier to just blind myself from the horror that is played out in front of me.  
  
"Don't you want to watch pet?" He asks, placing a small kiss on the side of my neck. "You should know what your getting yourself into."  
  
I let my gaze fall on him again, he's dropped the body to the floor, and excess blood is spilling from the wound. Pale hands are now raking along a boys chest, causing streams of scarlet blood to flow down the smooth skin. The boy meets my eyes, and he pleads with me to save him.  
  
"This isn't you." I say slowly, letting my gaze drop the floor and our moving feet. "Not anymore anyway."  
  
He smiles, but I don't need to look to see it. "Luv, you think a soul replaces the demon in me?" For the near harshness of the statement, his voice is soft. "I'm not a man, but then again, that's never what you wanted is it pet?"  
  
Digging my nails into the flesh of his back, I watch his other half harshly ride a girl of Dawns age. She's crying, red tears streaming down her face as he forces himself into her. Without warning his eyes flash to gold and he bites into her. Bucking with climax as he feeds.  
  
And suddenly it's my flesh he's biting, and my body he's slamming into. "Is this the sort of man you want?"  
  
It's his voice, but I'm not sure where it comes from as I fall into darkness.  
  
***  
  
Buffy awoke the next morning shaken. The bright rays of early morning sun streamed through the shafted blinds. Bringing herself to a sitting position, she tried to shake the memory of the dream aside.  
  
She had brought Angel back by accepting his death, coming to terms with the fact that she had killed him. The same rules may not apply for the other vampire, but the guidelines were the same.  
  
Until she was ready, until the Slayer could gather the courage to bring him back, she would have to cope with the loss.  
  
And the haunting of her dreams. 


End file.
